


A Different Slice of Hell (The Good Omens Place)

by Princip1914



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Good Place (TV) Fusion, Aziraphale would hate it tho, Crowley would LOVE the Good Place, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), It's exactly his style of evil, Jealous Aziraphale, Jealous Crowley, M/M, Marriage Proposal, So soft it's gross, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 02:03:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19122349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princip1914/pseuds/Princip1914
Summary: “Oh angel,” Crowley sighs in a way that Aziraphale can now, only after several millennia, finally admit is rather more fond than exasperated. “You know, when I said we should go for a vacation I didn’t mean back to literal hell.”A fic which started out as some lighthearted fun (because, seriously how is it possible that this crossover hasn't been done before? am I missing something?) and then rapidly devolved into FEELINGS. So uh, I don't know, if you don't like marriage proposals between supernatural entities, then maybe stay away I guess? There are chowder fountains too.





	A Different Slice of Hell (The Good Omens Place)

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers, for The Good Place (obviously, I mean, just look at the title) and also Good Omens. I am sorry that I wasn't able to work in more of Eleanor or any of Jason or Tahani. Maybe I'll add some cut scenes later who knows...or maybe someone else will pick up the torch and write us something juicy in this criminally underdone crossover.
> 
> Edited to say, I have a tumblr now, because I can't stay away: [Come say hi!](https://princip1914.tumblr.com)

It takes Crowley all of thirty seconds after alighting from the train to clutch at his hair and gasp “unholy fork!” 

“Fork!” he tries again “Motherforking fork...I can’t even say fork?” 

“Excuse me, dear, what?” Aziraphale asks, concerned. 

“Oh, that’s genius,” Crowley breathes, “Oh, they are _light years_ ahead of us here angel.” 

“Crowley what are you on about?” Aziraphale asks, looking around for the cause of his demon’s excitement. The town square is quiet, peaceful, decked out in pastel colors just like in the brochure. The clam chowder fountain bubbles gently in the background. 

“Aziraphale, you can’t feel it?”

“Feel what?” Aziraphale says, still very puzzled. 

“Try to curse, just try it.” 

“I don’t curse,” Aziraphale says uncertainly. “I’m an angel” 

“That’s bullshirt and you know it” Crowley says, and looks, if possible even more delighted. 

“Oh, all right.” Aziraphale heaves a sigh and then mutters “shirt” under his breath. “Shirt” he tries again. “Oh, that is odd.” 

“Not just odd,” Crowley grins. “Positively demonic”

“But dear, this is The Good Place!” Aziraphale trails off, unsure. “At least, that’s what it said on the brochure…”

“Oh angel,” Crowley sighs in a way that Aziraphale can now, only after several millennia, finally admit is rather more fond than exasperated. “You know, when I said we should go for a vacation I didn’t mean _back to literal hell._ ” 

“But this is--” Aziraphale starts again. Crowley holds up a finger to shush him. 

“Definitely The Bad Place angel.” 

Aziraphale looks around the town square again. “I’m not sure I believe you! It’s just so...nice” 

“Remember how you said Tadfield felt? Remember how you said it felt lo-loved,” Crowley stutters a bit on the word in a way that makes Aziraphale corporation go a little tingly. “Does this place feel like that?” 

Aziraphale reaches out for any whiff of angelic virtue. “Oh…” he says, “no, actually it feels a little…” 

“Spooky, right?” Crowley finishes for him. “Come on then,” he says grinning. “Let’s go check out that bookshop across the way.” He sets off towards a pink pastel shop front that loudly proclaims the name “An Author You Can’t Refuse.”

___

Thirty minutes later, Aziraphale is crestfallen. “You’re right, this really is hell,” he sighs as Crowley gently steers him out of the bookshop. He’s afraid that letting Aziraphale spend any more than half an hour examining mint condition first editions each with one large coffee stain on the front cover and thrillers with the last page removed is risking long term emotional damage. As it is, the angel looks a bit pale and shaky. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to unsee what they did to that first folio of Hamlet, dear.” 

“Hush angel,” Crowley takes his hand bracingly. “I’m sure it’s just a facsimile that the….what did the brochure call it? A Janet?...I’m sure it’s just something the Janet whipped up out of the ether. Nothing to be alarmed about really.” 

“But it felt so real!” The angel moans, and then, “I don’t know how I didn’t see it earlier, oh, why didn’t we do Gallifrey instead like you suggested?”

“It’s ok,” Crowley says charitably. “In your defense, hell does have some really good marketing. How long did you say you booked us for?”

“Two weeks,” Aziraphale says mournfully. 

“Well, could be worse,” Crowley says, prodding Aziraphale gently in the ribs. “We could have accidentally ended up in Heaven. Come on, let’s find this ‘architect’ and pick up our keys.” 

\---

It’s the second day of their holiday and Crowley is listening in rapt fascination while Aziraphale tries not to sulk next to him. It turns out that the ‘architect,’ Michael, shares a name with an archangel, has a very grating laugh, and a propensity for quite ostentatious bow ties. Aziraphale is sure these are the reasons he dislikes Michael right away. It definitely isn’t because Michael, with his white hair and slim physique, and bold patterns is like a taller, leaner, broader shouldered, better dressed, more demonic version of Aziraphale himself. It definitely is because of Michael’s entirely too much peacock bowtie, not the way Crowley is leaning in, hanging on every word. 

“Frozen yogurt,” Crowley breathes. “That’s just masterful.” 

“I know!” Michael exclaims, with a delighted look that makes Aziraphale think some decidedly unangelic thoughts. “It’s a food that people think they enjoy…”

“but is also kind of a bummer!” Crowley and Michael finish together. 

“Honestly, I should be taking notes,” Crowley says, then sits up a little straighter. “I mean, if I weren’t retired. This is our retirement vacation actually,” Crowley says lightly, glancing at Aziraphale. He makes an aborted motion like he’s going to reach out to pat Aziraphale’s thigh, but then withdraws his hand. That simply won’t do, so Aziraphale puts a tentative hand on Crowley’s knee. Aziraphale is rewarded by a slight upturn in the corners of Crowley’s mouth, which causes something hot and fluttery to rise in his chest. Crowley looks at him, gaze inscrutable behind his sunglasses, for a moment longer, then turns back to Michael. 

“And the humans, they really don’t know that they’re being tortured?” he asks incredulously. 

“Well...um…” Michael looks uncomfortable for the first time in this conversation, tugs on his bow tie a little, then looks around before lowering his voice conspiratorially “actually, they kind of did figure it out…”

“Ingenious benches, humans, the lot of them,” Crowley says sounding pleased.

“Yes, they uh...figured it out every time we tried it I’m afraid.” 

“You’ve done this multiple times!”

“Oh yes, with, um the same humans in fact. We...er...had to reboot the neighborhood a few times. But it’s all good now!” Michael says loudly with forced cheerfulness. “All good in the hood!” He lowers his voice again. “But actually, Bad Place HQ doesn’t know about all the reboots, so just keep it to yourselves alright?” 

“Ah, so you’re also in trouble with downstairs!” Crowley grins, snakelike. “We have so much in common!” Aziraphale considers performing a minor miracle to tie Michaels’s shoelaces together, but restrains himself. 

“Oh, and also…” Michael looks around again. “The um...other demons here, that is you know, _everyone who isn’t a human_ think the humans are still in the dark about the whole thing. So, it would be great if you could just, sort of pretend to go along with the whole torture ruse.” Michael gives them such a worried look that Aziraphale finds himself reassuring him without meaning to. Darn his angelic instincts! 

“No problem,” Crowley says, “But we would love to meet these humans if we get the chance.” Aziraphale doesn’t like the gleam Crowley gets in his eye as he says it. 

Later, lying side by side in the bed at their rented house, which somehow manages to be both as cavernously bland as Heaven and as damp and cramped as Hell, Crowley turns to Aziraphale and says, casually, “you know, I don’t think Michael has very good taste in ties.”

“Maybe not, but he’s not very soft, is he?” Aziraphale says with a little quaver in his voice that he tries his best to squash. 

A slow smile spreads across Crowley’s face. “Good thing I like soft then,” he says, and curls an arm very, very cautiously around Aziraphale’s middle, so that’s all right then. 

\--

Aziraphale surprises himself by rather liking the one called Chidi. They sit on a bench in the town square eating frozen yogurt (despite Aziraphale’s dislike of Michael, he has to admit, it is _impressively_ mediocre) while Crowley and Eleanor are off somewhere comparing notes on favorite vices. 

“That poor first folio of Hamlet,” Aziraphale shudders, digging his spoon into “Well Preserved Regency Silver Snuffboxes,” a flavor Janet had designed just for him. “There’s no version of The Good Place in any universe that includes ruined first editions of Shakespeare. Actually, er…” he glances at the human next to him and continues, trying to break the news as kindly as possible, “I’m quite sure there are no versions of the Good Place anywhere that include Shakespeare at all.” Say what you will about Crowley’s performance as a demon, when he actually put effort into tempting, he was very effective. 

“The Wittgenstein is like that too,” Chidi moans. “Every third page has water damage. Of course, Janet can always bring copies of any works we want to read, but still...doing that to a first edition.” 

They are silent for a while. Chidi takes a big scoop of “Adopting a Puppy on the Same Day You Get Tenure” before he speaks again. 

“So, you’re an actual angel? From the Actual Good Place?” Chidi shakes his head. “It’s just...that’s a lot to take in you know.” 

Aziraphale sighs. “Yes, well, sort of...I mean, I’m not from your version of heaven, from the Actual Good Place as you called it. I’m from my version of heaven. And I’m kind of on the outs now, as it were. Retired. Or...fired I suppose. Quite literally. I was meant to burn in hellfire.”

“Sorry, I just...I don’t want to be rude, and I may regret asking, but I have to know,” Chidi sighs. “How, exactly, do you get fired from being an angel?” 

Just then, Crowley rounds the corner of the street, listening eagerly as Eleanor describes WrestleMania with an expression on his face that is equal parts delight and horror. Aziraphale glances up, and something must show on his own features (he’s always had a terribly expressive face, even for an angel) because Chidi says softly. “Oh, I see.” 

“It wasn’t only that,” Aziraphale says defensively. “There was also an antichrist and well, a lot of other things really. But mostly...yes. We picked the side of the humans. But actually, we kind of just picked each other.” 

“At least you were able to make a choice,” Chidi says. “Decision making isn’t...um a strong suit of mine. I probably would have made pro/con lists all the way to the end times.” 

“Well,” Aziraphale admits, “I did my fair share of dithering. About six thousand years of it in fact.” 

“Six thousand!” Chidi exclaims, then cuts himself off and clutches at his stomach as though it hurts. 

Aziraphale coughs a bit and Chidi makes an obvious effort to change the subject. “So how does morality work in your universe anyway? Multiverse theory is so complex and when we start to consider the best of all possible worlds, meaning, really _all possible worlds_ \--”

“I think it’s all meant to be rather ineffable.” Aziraphale cuts in quickly, seeing the gleam in Chidi’s eyes and trying valiantly to duck out of the path of the oncoming train. 

“ineffable?” Chidi’s brow furrows. “I think that’s just something people say when they’re bullshirting in philosophy seminars because they don’t understand the theory.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says faintly, and thankfully Crowley comes up at that moment to rescue him. 

“Angel,” he says delightedly, “Did you know that there is a duck pond here too? Elenore gave me directions, shall we go? I bet if I sink them, Janet will just make new ducks.” 

“You’ll do no such thing!” Aziraphale exclaims, with fondness that is barely pretending to be outrage, and lets himself be lead away. 

Janet obliging provides them with breadcrumbs, but Crowley is uncharacteristically quiet as they stand by the pond in sunny weather that is just a touch too warm for long sleeves, but too chilly for short sleeves. 

“I don’t like old books,” Crowley says suddenly, which is odd really as it has nothing to do with the ducks. “I like that you like them, but I don’t really like them myself. You know that, right?”

“You don’t have to like them, my dear,” Aziraphale says nonplussed. “Where is all this coming from? Do you have a problem with my bookshop?” 

“No,” Crowley says too quickly. “I lo--, well, I really like your bookshop. Great place to get drunk. Nice place to conspire about the antichrist. Maybe would be better with a few plants. But books on the whole...I could sort of take them or leave them, you know?”

“No, I don’t know?” Aziraphale says, and then he understands. 

“Ah,” he says “Dear, if you start sinning too much then this won’t be a vacation anymore. Anyway, there’s no need to be jealous.” 

“I’m not jealous--” Crowley huffs but Aziraphale ignores him. 

“You know, I don’t really like plants, for all that I tried to be a gardener once, but yours are rather nice.” 

Crowley makes a small noise next to him. 

“And you know I’ll never really be one for cars.” 

“Good thing you have me to drive you around then,” Crowley says. 

“Indeed,” Aziraphale says, and shuffles imperceptively closer until the pinky fingers of their hands brush up against one another. 

\---

“Angel, why do you think I suggested a vacation?” Crowley is lounging, spread out all over the wooden seat of the train as it clacks rhythmically through the nothingness back towards earth. Yet, there is some kind of secret tension in his posture as if he is trying to appear casual and relaxed rather than actually being casual and relaxed. Crowley is very good, but the difference is there. You’d have to know him for six thousand years in order to be able to spot it, Aziraphale thinks. 

“Well, we averted the apocalypse, sort of retired...seemed like we were due for a vacation, I suppose?” Aziraphale’s voice sounds tremulous even to his ears. His corporation’s heart is fluttering very quickly but he doesn’t know why. Perhaps that last bowl of clam chowder he had had from the fountain was a bit off. 

Crowley waves a hand dismissively. “Yes, of course, all good reasons to go for a vacation. And sloth, can’t forget sloth, a vacation is a great way to accomplish sloth…” he trails off. “But also…there’s something I wanted to do. Meant to do it back in The Good Place really, but the sunsets were all so mediocre and well, no offense about the way you pick vacation destinations, but Hell wasn’t really the backdrop I was hoping for.” 

Crowley takes off his sunglasses, puts them in his breast pocket, again with an exaggerated casualness. He’s not looking at Aziraphale. “I..um...” There’s an undercurrent in his voice that Aziraphale hasn’t heard since the night he was discorporated and found Crowley at the bar. “I wanted to do this,” he says in a rush. In one fluid movement, Crowley is standing, crossing the shaking aisle of the train, and kneeling in front of Aziraphale. He holds out a small box which Aziraphale takes and opens with trembling fingers. The two rings nestled inside clink gently against one another. 

Aziraphale can barely breathe. He stands frozen by shock and by something else. “Oh, Crowley, you old serpent, you are a romantic after all!” he finally manages. 

“What! I’m not a romantic!” Crowley hisses out and makes a move to stand, but Aziraphale puts a hand on his shoulder, and he sinks back down. 

“It’s just, I thought…” Crowley says haltingly. “We don’t have The Arrangement anymore, since we aren’t really an angel and a demon these days, and Adam seems to be better off without our co-parenting, and well…” Crowley finally looks up at Aziraphale, yellow eyes huge. “It’s just a promise. A promise that we’re on our side now. Our side forever.” 

Aziraphale thinks he knows what Crowley is saying, even though he’s not really saying it out loud. “I...I won’t leave you again, love. Never again.” Aziraphale says in a rush, then surprises both of them by bursting into tears. 

Crowley stands awkwardly. “Er..” he says. 

“Just put the ring on me already you sly serpent!” Aziraphale exclaims through the tears. 

“Oh, yeah, right on...ok…” Crowley stammers and if his fingers tremble a bit as he slides the band Aziraphale’s finger, well Aziraphale figures the decent thing would be not to mention it, for a few centuries at least. 

“Can I put yours on?”

Crowley nods mutely and Aziraphale slides the other ring from the box onto Crowley’s slim finger, laces their hands together. They sit like that, side by side, as the train hurtles on back to the earth they worked so hard to save. Aziraphale leans his head against Crowley’s shoulder. “What a lovely vacation,” he says. 

A loud “Bing!” startles them as Janet materializes behind them. Suddenly the train is filed with gaudy wedding decorations, complete with doves flapping around the ceiling. “Here you go,” she says brightly, handing them each a flute of champagne and what appears to be two copies of a marriage license, before disappearing with another “Bing!”

“What the--? Is this even a legal license? Oi we only just got engaged!” Crowley shouts vaguely in the direction of Janet’s void, but Aziraphale, sap that he is smiling so broadly that Crowley throws up his hands, decides semantics are unimportant, and kisses him anyway.


End file.
